


scarves of red tied 'round their throats

by puddingandpie



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: 2018 Winter Olympics, Alpine Skier Eva, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Figure Skater Isak, Hockey Player Jonas, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Snowboarder Even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-16 19:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13642623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddingandpie/pseuds/puddingandpie
Summary: The last time Isak saw Even, he was sweaty and naked underneath him, only to pack up and leave the next morning. Now, they're together at the Winter Olympics, a coincidence which was never going to be a coincidence considering Isak was well aware of the profession that Even was in as well.With Even apparently desperate to cover up their one interaction, Isak has to try and last the rest of the games without seeing his stupidly handsome and attractiveface while concentrating on his own performance. Personally, Isak thinks this could be the hardest challenge of his life.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> hello!
> 
> this is probably the worst idea ive ever had to be posting, with big bang around the corner and other major projects on the sidelines. but i wrote almost 4k in a single day while watching the ice dancers as part of the winter olympics, so here it is!
> 
> a lot of this comes from my own imagination, so feel free to fact check me down in the comments if anythings wrong. i cant take any credit for isaks figure skating origin story however, which comes from australian pairs skater harley windsor, who im slightly in love with. the title has been neatly lifted from white winter hymnal.
> 
> lots of love to makayla, my fic writing partner in crime and my favourite ideas woman. also to zilver, my wife, who told me this was a bad idea but still supported me posting it anyway! i love u <3
> 
> hope you all enjoy :)

He knows from the moment that his skate leaves the ice whether the jump will be good or not, whether he’ll need to adjust his footwork to land on the outside edge and how high up his leg will have to go in order for him to keep his balance while he’s landing. Isak has been skating since he was five years old, since his mother took a wrong turn while trying to get to McDonalds and ended up at an ice rink, so the theory behind jumps and spins were pure muscle memory by now. 

The ice at Pyeongchang is weirdly different to the ice he skates on at home, so he’s here even when he doesn’t have to be throwing himself into lutzes and salchows to try and get a feel for the rhythm of the ice and to tweak his footwork so it will be perfect. 

“Isak!” a voice calls from the sidelines. When he looks up, broken out of his stupor of concentration, the voice is revealed to be Eskild, once an Olympic champion himself but now Isak’s long term and ever suffering coach. “What the hell are you doing on the ice?”

“Sorry Eskild, I just wanted to get some practise!”

“You can practise tomorrow in the actual designated practise time. Right now Team Norway are supposed to be going out for some mandatory bonding time forward slash some nice press photos, and it’s not very good if their flag bearer is missing from that.”

Isak skates over to the edge of the ice where Eskild is standing, shrugging his shoulders. “I didn’t ask to be the flagbearer. I just wanted to skate.”

“Yeah well, you got good. Shit comes with that. Now please please please get off the ice and come be a good representative of your country?”

He takes a wistful look back at the ice before he follows Eskild to the side bench, waddling awkwardly before he takes his skates off, putting the blade covers on and chucking them haphazardly in his bag. 

-

 

A fun fact that most people don’t know about Isak; he started his figure skating career in hockey. Jonas will never let him live down the fact he ever tried it in the first place, and now he’s the captain of the Norwegian Hockey team that teasing has somehow gotten worse. 

They’re drunk, vodka drunk so that they don’t consume many calories, and that’s when Jonas starts to bring out the stories. The one he’s telling now is the reason why Isak is a figure skater in the first place, because his mum bought him figure skates instead of hockey skates and he showed up to hockey practise in them. 

“And then,” Jonas slurs, “the dickhead has the nerve to outskate us in fucking figure skates.” He’s gesturing wildly to Eva, an alpine skier, who, by the look on her face, has heard this story too many times to count.

Isak is standing by the wall, nursing a water which had been shoved into his hand before by Eskild, and praying that no one he doesn’t already know comes and talks to him. He did the greetings when he was still sober, talked to Sana, who frankly scares the shit out of him as Norway’s only female skeleton competitor, and met her brother Elias who was the captain of the four-man bobsled team. After that, he kind of bowed out of conversation in general.

Jonas has moved onto a new story now, the one about Magnus being so shitty about cut from the hockey team because of his general lack of coordination that he joined the curling team out of spite and then somehow made it to the Olympics. Isak privately thinks that it should be Magnus telling that story.

“Did you really wear ice skates to hockey practise when you were six?”

“Is that really your best ice-breaker Even?” Isak looks up from his glass to see Even leaning casually against the wall next to him, taking a sip of an amber liquid out of a tumbler and grinning. “I know you know the answer because I’ve told you that story before.”

“Maybe I forgot?” He replies with a shit eating grin that tells Isak that Even’s memory is as clear as ever, especially with details that Isak wishes he would forget. 

“Fuck off,” Isak says with a roll of his eyes, trying to be smooth as he takes another sip of his water. Isak should know better than to try and be smooth when he’s drunk by now, because he misses his mouth by a wide margin. His light gray jumper turns dark instantly, much to Even’s suppressed amusement. Isak takes the jumper off, bunching it up in his arms. At least now he has an excuse to leave.

Suddenly though, Even is shrugging off his outer layer and handing it over to Isak. Sober Isak recognises that taking Even’s jumper is number one on the list of Bad Ideas but Drunk Isak is the sort of person that actively goes against anything that Sober Isak think’s is a good idea, so before he knows it Isak has put it on. It smells of Even in all the ways that Isak is actively trying to forget, which does nothing except for bring Isak straight back to that night. 

Even takes another sip of his drink, pushes off of the wall and disappears into the crowd, saluting as he goes. Isak tries to stop his heart from fluttering. 

When he looks up again, he makes eye contact with Mahdi, who just raises a singular eyebrow. Jonas may be the one in their little friend group with the best eyebrows, but it’s Mahdi who knows how best to pack sixty questions and ninety different variations of disappointment into a single eyebrow raise. Isak blushes, looks down at the floor again and wishes that it would swallow him up.

 

-

 

Jonas is the only person that Isak told about him and Even fucking. Mahdi he thinks knows because he has basic common sense, and Eva too because Jonas and her were in the on stage of their on off relationship, but Jonas is the only person he has ever come out and told. Now that he thinks about it he’s the only person he’s ever come out to properly. The rest of his friends found out through word of mouth.

Now, Jonas is sitting cross legged on the end of his bed, his face frozen in a look which Isak doesn’t even want to know what it means. It’s the morning after the drunk mess of the first night in Pyeongchang party, and as usual Isak seems to have taken the weight of both Jonas’ and his own hangovers while Jonas doesn’t get any of it. He looks bright and perky, which at 9:02 in the morning in a vastly different timezone to the one that the two of them are used to does nothing but make the anger begin to build up in Isak’s stomach.

He shakes a bit of the sleep out of his eyes and sits up, pulling one of the spare pillows from the floor and placing it behind his back to support him.

He doesn’t waste any time in getting to the point. “You went to sleep in his jumper.”

“So what?” Isak says, rolling his eyes.

Jonas throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. “I thought you said you were over him!”  
“I am over him!”

“You’re wearing his fucking jumper to bed.”

“So fucking what?” 

“Ugh,” Jonas groans, rolling off the side and hitting the floor dramatically. He sprawls out on the floor like he’s a starfish, which makes Isak roll his eyes again. 

“I could speak to him if you want. We’re– friends?” Jonas offers, which makes Isak flush. 

“I would rather crawl in a hole and die,” Isak deadpans, surprised that he means every word. 

“I mean,” Jonas says, suddenly grinning. “South Korea did set the record for most condoms ever supplied for an Olympic Games so…” 

“If you weren’t on the floor I’d hit you right now.”

“You wouldn’t.”  
Without hesitation, Isak grabs the pillow from behind his back and sends it flying straight into Jonas’ face.

 

-

 

Isak has always been a nervous competitor, but nothing unnerves him more than when he’s watching the people he’s competing against. The ice may have scheduling times for when certain teams are allowed on the ice, but that doesn’t stop rival coaches from sitting up in the stands all day long, noting down which teams have bad landings and who can’t throw properly, all in the hope of gaining a little advantage for their skaters.

The Norwegian figure skating team consists of him, singles skater Vilde Lien and doubles pair Noora Sætre and William Magnusson. They’re all finishing up now, their designated hour coming to an end. He’s trying to throw in as much jump practise as he can before the hour ends, because he’s still  

Even, much to Isak’s chagrin, is sitting next to Eskild, staring entranced at the skaters. William can toss Noora like she weighs the same amount as a pin, and Vilde can push herself up off the ice and spin herself around with such elegant control that Isak is not surprised that he is here watching them. 

It’s only the small voice that is whispering in the back of his mind that is making his stomach flare up with nerves, causing him to almost fuck up the landing of his double axel. Almost.  _ Maybe he’s here to watch you.  _

When Isak makes eye contact with Eskild only to raise an eyebrow at him (why is everyone raising disappointed eyebrows at Isak this week?), he kind of catches on to the fact that Even is actually here for him.

The clock on the wall says that the Norwegian team still have six minutes of practise time left, which is enough time for Isak to run his entire short program again, but now he just feels antsy to get off the ice and see what Even wants. He skates over to the edge, careful to avoid William and Noora. Eskild gets up to meet him.

“You’ve done more than enough practise,” Eskild stresses. “Even wants to talk to you.”

Eskild’s tone of voice suggests that he knows with a capital k about the history between Even and him. Isak suddenly feels a little queasy about the amount of people who know about something he wants to forget. 

Even keeps his distance until Isak has shed his skates and found his skate covers, lingering by the door on his phone. There’s a weird sort of tension between them, as Even looks up at Isak every couple of seconds, a faint smile on his face. When Isak’s done, he goes over to Even, rubbing his arm awkwardly.

“Uh, hey?”

“Hey,” Even says, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Walk?”

“Okay.”

They don’t really talk while they leave the ice arena, instead ambling on in a more comfortable silence than before. Isak is still aware of the glances that Even keeps shooting his way, and for some reason now Even is making less of an attempt to hide them.

When it becomes clear that Even isn’t going to break the silence, Isak does it for him. “So, uh– what did you want to talk to me about?”

Even flushes a little. “How many people know?”

It’s an open ended question, but there’s only one thing that Even could mean, one thing that would be worth getting him alone to talk about. Isak goes a little red too. “Uh, three I think. On my end at least. Why?”

“There’s this girl…” Even starts, rubbing his shoulder awkwardly. He’s not smiling, but Isak doesn’t think he should be. There’s a silence, where Isak stops walking. Even doesn’t notice for a second, but when he does he turns around, a confused look on his face. The anger comes on quicker than he was expecting, and before he knows it he’s shoved Even full in the chest. 

“What the fuck!”

“What?”  
“I thought–” Shame begins to cling to him now, as he realises all of the looks and the jumper incident and everything that had happened between him and Even up until now really was Even being a good friend and that he had read too much into it. “Actually, fuck what I thought. You’re scared of your new girl finding out you like dick as well? Well she’s not gonna hear it from me, alright.”

“Isak…” Even says, reaching for his hand, but Isak twists his wrist out of his grip. The spot where Even grabbed him feels like it’s been burned. 

“Don’t Even. Just– just stay away, okay?”

He’s close enough to the Norway house in the village that he can turn and storm back there. Fuck, he’s an idiot. He actually thought that Even might like him, but why would he. Apparently he was nothing more than a quick experimentation fuck, and now that Even was getting over that phase of his life he was something to be swept under the rug and forgotten about. 

But right now, what Isak needed to do was hide somewhere to lick his wounds for a while, allow himself a moment to wallow in his utter stupidity before he compartmentalizes that and moves on. Jonas is out with the hockey team right now, because Isak’s pretty sure that most of Team Norway practises at the same time. That may only give him ten or so minutes, but all he needs is those ten minutes and a stick of gum to get over this boy.

Twenty minutes later, Isak’s sitting curled on the floor of the shower, feeling a little numb. Maybe he needed a little longer than ten minutes. 

 

-

 

The Olympic Village is the worst place for this to have occured, because Even tells Mikael who tells Elias who tells Sana who tells Eva who tells Jonas who then corners him right before the Opening Ceremony, where he’s standing all bundled up in his red coat and navy beanie, his hands sweating on the flagpole he’s currently gripping like a lifeline.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me about Even,” he hisses, loud enough that a few of the other athletes standing around them turn around and tune into the conversation. 

“Can we not talk about this now?” Isak hisses back, desperate to avoid other people getting involved in this, even though so many people already are. 

“Why didn’t you tell me,” Jonas repeats, tugging on Isak’s arm to bring him a little further out from where Team Norway were preparing for their grand entrance. 

“Because maybe I just needed some time for me, okay,” Isak says back softly. Jonas jumps back like he’s been burned.

Jonas isn’t like him. When something happens to him like this everyone that’s important to him knows about it, because he needs their support to even start his moving on process. He’s the sort of person that needs to surround himself with people all the time, because people are what make him feel rejuvenated and happy again. Isak sometimes wonders how Jonas and him have managed to stay as close as they have for as long as they have. 

“Shit Isak. I’m sorry for pushing.”

Isak softens a little at the genuine guilt in Jonas’ tone. “It’s okay. We can– we can talk later.” 

It’s not okay. He’s the flagbearer for Norway, the world is watching him for a second, and it’s a challenge to keep the smile on his face when all he can think about is Even, who in the cruelest twist of fate is walking directly behind him. When Isak sneaks a look, Even has his megawatt smile on, which despite his best efforts makes Isak’s stomach flutter. That stomach flutter makes him feel even worse, and it’s a genuine relief when the camera stops focusing on the individual teams and onto the figure skater skating her way to the flame. 

When he gets back to his room, he’s angry. Angry at Jonas, for bringing up Even in the first place and making him analyse every little thing instead of concentrating on the beautiful spectacle in front of him. He’s angry with himself about Even, angry about the way that he has managed to spoil his first Olympic opening ceremony despite Isak’s best efforts to stay cheerful. He’s angry that Even decided to have that conversation then, angry that Even is taking up all of his thoughts.

He’s lying on his bed, trying to meditate his anger away but instead stewing in it, slightly dreading the moment that Jonas walks back in. When he does, the happy demeanor that Jonas has gained from socialising with the other athletes from all the other teams makes his anger a little stronger. 

Jonas, to his credit, picks up on that, and tries his best to drop the smile from his face. He comes over and sits on the side of Isak’s bed, resting his hands either side of him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Fuck off,” Isak says, chuckling despite himself. Now there’s the reason why him and Jonas have been friends for so long. He always knows exactly what to say to get Isak out of his own head. 

There’s a silence for a while, as Isak debates how exactly to tell Jonas what happened. “Even told me there was a girl.”

Jonas, who up until this point was passing time on his phone, looks up immediately, startled. “You’re joking me.”

“No. Implied that I was his experimentation with boys and that he didn’t want anyone to know about it too.”

Unexpectedly, Jonas hits his fist on the bed in his frustration. It makes Isak jump a little. “That fucker. I’m gonna kill him.”

Isak sits up and places a hand on Jonas’ leg to steady him. “No, Jonas.”

“But he fucking–”

“No, Jonas. I’m just gonna get through these two weeks with as limited communication with Even as I can manage and then I’m gonna go home and pretend we don’t live in the same city and that we don’t see each other on winter circuits,” Isak says, lying through his teeth. He already knows that limited contact with Even when they’re living in such close quarters is near impossible, not to mention he has to support Chris in when she does her snowboarding. 

Jonas, to his credit, doesn’t say a word. He just puts an arm around Isak’s shoulder and pulls him in close. 

 

-

 

Isak doesn’t actually start skating until the second week. The ice dancers always go first, which means Isak does a whole lot of supporting and not a lot of. It psychs him out more than he likes to admit, so instead of watching the three pairs that team Norway entered into the Olympics skate and glide gracefully on the ice, he’s watching Eva’s qualifier in the alpine ski.

“I’m psyching myself up,” she says, waving her poles around a little wildly. “I’ve done this hundreds of times. I just have to get out there and do what I do every single time.”

“You just have to get out there and do what you do every single time,” he repeats absently. “You’re going to do great Eva.”

Isak knows that she still has the chairlift and the waiting at the top of the course to go, and that time can ruin her as well, but for some reason his words seem to have a little bit of an effect on her, even though they were just her words regurgitated. 

“Thanks for being here Isak,” she says fondly, too much sentimentality seeping into her tone. Isak smiles widely back, hugging her tightly before he’s even realised he’s done it. She hugs him back just as tight before skiing off, leaving Isak to wait alone at the bottom of the ski slopes. Quickly however, he realises he’s not alone.

Most of his friends, Vilde, Chris, Noora and Sana, were all standing at the bottom of the slopes in a tight semicircle, all staring at him. 

“Who would have thought it,” Sana teases as he walks over. “Isak Valtersen has a heart.”

“That’s not a secret Sana,” Chris says, slapping her lightly on the arm. “We’ve known that since we met him.”

“He just pretends he’s an ice queen,” Noora teases, her nose wrinkling a little.  _ Ice queen  _ is the nickname that Isak has been desperate to shed, as its brought up every time past Isak is brought up. Closeted him did some shitty things, but everyone’s past that now.  _ Ice queen,  _ the only reminder of how unfeeling Isak used to pretend he was, still remains. 

“Fuck off, all of you,” Isak says, joining his place in the huddle.

There’s some mindless chatter amongst them all before Noora draws him to one side, under the guise of looking for a cup of hot something. “You can talk to me, you know? About Even?”

“How do you–” Isak starts, but Noora cuts him off. 

“Even, actually. He wanted me to check if you were okay.”

Isak narrows his eyes. “He wanted you to check if I was okay?” he repeats incredulously. 

“Yeah. He doesn’t actually have it out for you, you know?”

“Doesn’t seem like it to me.”

“Yeah well–” Noora starts, but is cut off by Chris running over, grabbing both of them by the wrist and pulling them back to where they were standing before.

“Eva’s about to skate!” she cries, positioning them right by the barrier. And she is. She’s standing at the top of the hill, a faint red dot against the harsh white of the snow. She’s crouching down as far as Isak can see, but as quickly as he can blink she’s off. 

Dodge, dodge, flip. Dodge, dodge, three sixty rotation. Dodge some more, and then within twenty seven seconds, her event is done, her skates causing snow to fly up as she grinds herself to a stop. There’s a few seconds gap, where Eva’s points are announced, and after that she’s sitting at a comfortable fourth in the qualifying round, giving her a good shot of getting in the finals. 

Isak doesn’t expect Eva to fly over and hug him after that, but she does, wrapping her arms around him first. It’s the second time they’ve hugged today, and Isak is chalking it up to Pyeongchang Olympic jitters. After a few seconds pass, Chris jumps onto their hug, clapping Eva on the back. Eva makes her way through the rest of her cheer squad, a lot of whom are missing supporting their own events to be here. Isak’s never felt more grateful for his friends.

Eva disappears after that, going back up the mountain for her first attempt at bettering her score. She waves at them from the chairlift, and even though they must look like dots to her, they all wave back. The mood around them all is infectious as they stand around and wait for her second run, and for the first time since he got here, Even is firmly and resolutely out of his mind.


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in his life, Isak Valtersen comes to the stunning conclusion that he might have actually made a big fucking mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the wonderful SKAM discord server I'm in, today is the reveal of the Valentines Secret Admirer. To all of you, happy Valentines Day, consider this my little contribution to SA day <3
> 
> ps: thanks to makayla (one half of the fic dream team) for half writing this for me when I got stuck and zilver for loving me and being the best wife

Isak will finish all his skating before Even will even hit the snow. It’s the thought he can’t get out of his head, because he’s booked his flights home for after the closing ceremony. All of the slopestyle events are at the end of the games, which he knows is what Even excels at. There’s halfpipe before that as well, which he’s pretty sure that Even competes in as well. 

(He’s not pretty sure. He’s 100% sure. He looked it up the moment that Eva’s event was over, because apparently Even can’t stay out of his head for more than an hour.)

Today is Wednesday, the first Wednesday of the games, and Isak is sitting in the cafeteria area that the Olympic committee have set up for them. He’s just on his phone, looking at all the things that have been said about him on the internet. Luckily enough, the only people that seemed to notice how distracted he was during the opening ceremony were a few of his fans on twitter. (How the fuck does he, a simple figure skater from Norway, have fans on twitter? He’ll never understand that.)

His quiet time with his breakfast is interrupted by Eskild slamming himself down on the seat opposite him, pushing a few papers into his field of view. 

“You’re doing an interview.” Eskild’s tone of voice leaves no room for questioning. Isak has to resist the urge to slam his head into his yoghurt. 

“Why?”

“Its compulsory for all Team Norway,” Eskild says. “Trust me, putting you up for an interview was not my first choice either.”

It didn’t take long for Eskild to realise that Isak was going to be a staged advertisement kind of athlete and not an interview/darling of the public eye kind of athlete. And the staged advertisement stuff has gotten him far, because Nike were the ones to reach out to him and offer to sponsor him here at the Olympics. The issue with Isak is that he’s far too clippy and short with the interviewer, desperate to keep them focused on the one thing that they don’t actually care about; the sport.

“When and where?” he mumbles into another mouthful of food. Eskild raises an eyebrow, looking pointedly down at the papers which he shoved at Isak before. Isak’s eyes widen around the spoon in his mouth. “You mean now?”

“Yes now! Come on, you can read the brief on the way.”

Isak has to abandon his yoghurt in order to keep Eskild’s pace while reading the interview brief which has been prepared for him. His stomach growls a little in protest, but there isn’t a moment to spare for that. 

“What the fuck is this?”

What Isak is referring to is the interview brief, which outlines his schedule and the types of questions he is about to get in the next hour and a half or so. It outlines the shitty games he’s about to play in the name of the public finding out more about him, which are becoming increasingly popular with teenagers online. But most importantly (or most terrifyingly) it outlines the person he is about to spend the next hour and a half with playing the stupid  _ who knows more about the other  _ game.

“Even?” It’s only after the word leaves his mouth, in the petulant and horrified tone that he does so well, does Isak realise that Eskild has no idea about him and Even’s history. Isak may have done the coming out thing a while ago to a few people in his private life, of whom Eskild was one, but to anyone who wasn’t Jonas talking about the practicalities of that private life was nothing less than Isak’s worst nightmare. 

Jonas had this way of making everything Isak ever told him feel just like Isak was telling him the day’s weather report, concealing the true importance of it even though both of them knew exactly how important it was. Eskild on the other hand, had no such tact. He rocked up to training with one hickey,  _ just one hickey,  _ and then suddenly who cares about training, because all Eskild wanted was to hear all about his night. 

“What’s wrong with Even?” Eskild says, his eyes narrowing as he stops to examine Isak’s face intently. “What don’t I know?”

Isak, fortunately, has had a lot of practise dealing with Eskild, and so he knows exactly how to school his face into the same look of boredom that he seemingly always has on. “Nothing Eskild. I was just expecting Jonas or Vilde or someone. My best friend, or at least someone in my sport.”

Eskild seems to be satisfied with this answer, because he turns around and the gruelling pace which they were walking at before resumes. “That’s what I thought too. But you’ve made it into the fan favourites category, so I guess they’re trying to cater as much as they can to the fans.” Eskild pauses a second, before turning to look at Isak. “And if you’re about to say you don’t have fans, don’t even bother. You’re famous now Isak. Time to own it.”

-

 

This is not his idea of owning it. He hasn’t been able to even look at Even without feeling the anger and the shame of his misinterpretation, with the feeling getting stronger every time. Even keeps shooting him looks when he thinks Isak isn’t looking, which just makes Isak even angrier. A part of that anger comes from the fact that the butterflies from those looks haven’t gone away, as much as Isak tries to pretend it has. 

“Mr Valtersen?” one of the ladies on the side of the hallway says, staring up at him from her clipboard. “If you could please take a seat, we’d like to start.”

Isak shoots a quick glance at Jonas, who is in a glass windowed room opposite him. Jonas responds with a pitying look, which perhaps could be the opposite of what Isak needs right now. He turns and enters the room, which is setup with two wooden stools sitting on a green screen, a whole flurry of camera and sound people buzzing around the area. 

Even is already sitting on one of the stools. He’s been sitting there the whole time while he’s been shooting his looks at Isak, which for some reason is all Isak can think about. Even is smiling widely at him now, sadness behind his eyes. Isak has to clench his fists to stop himself from walking out of the room and ending this interview altogether.

“Hello Isak,” Even chirps, his face lit up. When Isak gives him a curt and clipped hello in response, the cheer on his face flickers for only a second before it’s back. The sadness behind his eyes stays however.

“Isak, I just want a chance to explain,” Even says, leaning over a little so that he can whisper. 

“And I’m just here to compete, alright? I don’t want to deal with your bullshit, so let’s just get this over with, okay?” Isak bites out, more venom in his tone than he was intending. This time, Even does nothing to hide the fact that he’s upset, because his face entirely shatters. Isak isn’t expecting the guilt to well up in his stomach as fast as it does, but it’s there now, so he has to try and do his best to ignore it through the entire interview.

Apparently, today isn’t Isak’s day, because the moment that Even’s face dropped was also the moment that Eskild decided he was going to walk through the door and into the interview room, obviously ready to yell at Isak for Even. 

“Isak,” he says in his most disappointed tone when he reaches the stools. He then turns to Even, the exasperated look on his face turning to one of fake cheer in the time it takes for him to move from facing one boy to the other. “Please forgive whatever Isak said. He doesn’t mean it, he’s just grumpy.”

“Actually I think I deserve it,” Even says wryly, and that’s enough for Eskild’s interest to be immediately piqued and Isak to be cursing his name, because now he’ll have to tell Eskild what happened between him and Even.

“What do you–” Isak is saved from having to recount the entire embarrassing story in front of Even by the same clipboard lady, calling for Eskild to get off the set so that they can start this interview.

“And rolling!”

“Hi, my name is Even Bech Næsheim.”

“And I’m Isak Valtersen.”

“And today we’ll be playing the newlywed game!”

“Even though we are definitely not newlyweds,” Isak interjects. That’s not in the opening script, but something in him feels as though he has to clarify that point. The clipboard lady behind the camera shoots him a look, but he ignores it. 

There’s a pause, while Even fiddles around with the whiteboards on the floor, picking one up and handing one to him. 

“So me and Isak don’t really know each other very well,” Even says, and his genuine charisma on camera is just another thing which is pissing Isak off today. “Snowboarding and ice skating don’t really have much interaction.” 

Isak smiles and laughs a little, even though anyone who knows him would be able to pick that up in a heartbeat. “So we’re gonna learn a little about each other and our sports!”

The clipboard lady moves forward a little, pursing her lips down as she reads out the first question from the list. “Who is more likely to sleep in and miss practise?”

The squeaky sound that the whiteboard markers made as they glided roughly along the white plastic made Isak cringe, his whole body shuddering. This is an easy question for him. Isak, in the 13 years he’s been doing this and with all the complaining he has done in his life, has never missed a training session in his life. When Even turns his board around to reveal Isak’s name however, that’s the bloody final straw. 

“What the fuck?” Isak says, before clapping a hand over his mouth and turning to face the clipboard lady. “Am I allowed to swear?”

The clipboard lady shoots him a dirty look, but doesn’t respond. Isak takes that as a yes.

“Anyway,” Isak says, turning back to look at Even. “I have never missed a practise in my life.”

Even rolls his eyes. “Right then. I bet you’re the sort of person who turns up to practise just on time, one skate on one skate off, and with literally all of your stuff falling out of your bag.”

Okay, so maybe Even’s analysis of him was completely accurate, but Isak’s pride kept the frustrated look on his face. He doesn’t respond verbally, instead he only half heartedly shoves Even. The stool in which Even is on moves more than it should, and when Even eventually rights himself, there is the biggest shit eating grin on his face. 

The clipboard lady looks slightly uncomfortable. “When is Isak’s birthday?”

Isak isn’t expecting Even to get this one. Isak’s birthday isn’t something he likes to make a big deal of, and although it’s on his official Wikipedia page he thinks that that might be the only place it is. Even scribbles on the board for a while, but then the shit eating grin he was sporting from before gets wider, and when the board spins around there is his birthday,  _ 21 June 1999,  _ written clearly in block letters.

“How the fuck–?” 

Even’s grin fades a little to become a more genuine smile as he blushes and looks down at his lap. “I, uh, didn’t want to lose, so I looked you up before this.”

“You dickhead,” Isak says, before turning to the clipboard lady. “If you’re about to ask me when his birthday is––”

The clipboard lady cuts him off by asking just that. Isak groans, “I have no idea.”

He scribbles a few guesses down, not bothering to cross any of them out, but the moment he turns his whiteboard around he knows that they’re wrong, because Even shoots him a pointed look. “You really think I’d be a Capricorn? Really?”

“I don’t know star signs?” Isak shoots back defensively.

“I’m the 12th of February. Aquarius,” Even says, as though that should mean something to him. When it doesn’t, Even rolls his eyes. “I’m a air sign? Charming, impulsive, romantic?”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” Isak says, rolling his eyes, before glancing at the clipboard lady for the next question. 

“Who is more likely to get a speeding ticket?”

Isak and Even both turn to their boards again, scribbling down answers. Isak rolls his eyes when he sees his own name on Even’s board again. “I don’t drive, so I don’t think I can get a speeding ticket?”

“You don’t drive?” Even says, turning his board around to amend his mistake. “There. Surely I should get a point for that?”

“Changing your original answer does not count for a point, come on,” Isak protests. The clipboard lady, sticking with her general aesthetic of  _ I don’t want to be here so please don’t fucking talk to me,  _ does not interject into their conversation. Instead, she just looks down at her clipboard and reads out the next question. 

“Which one of you is the most popular with the ladies?”

Now this question is an easy one to answer for Isak, as he doesn’t want to be popular with the ladies, now or ever. And because Even knows this, surely the answer for him would be easier too. It’s only when Isak flips his board around to show Even’s name does he realise that Even hasn’t written anything down along with him.

“Even?”

“It’s fine–– actually you know what, it’s not. I need to say this,” Even turns around so he is staring directly at the clipboard lady, absolute murder in his eyes. “You can’t just ask questions like that. For one, you can’t just assume that either one of us is into ladies, because it makes that question so heteronormative. And we’re not here to talk about love lives anyways. We’re here at the  _ Olympic fucking Games  _ to compete, not to base our worth off of who gets the most girls. This interview was supposed to stick to superficial questions, like birthdays and parking tickets.” 

Even takes a deep breath, steadying himself a little. When he recovers, his face is one of steel, blank as ever. “You haven’t stuck to the interview guidelines which were outlined in the original contract, and I’m afraid that I will not be able to continue with this.”

Isak watches, his stomach alight with fear and panic and worry, as Even calmly gets off the stool and walks out of the interview room. There’s always that fear that sits in the bottom of his stomach, whenever sexuality is brought up in a conversation, that he will be outed before he is ready. Now more than ever, because Even called out that question and took a stand, that fear is coming ever closer to coming true.

It’s only when Eskild comes storming in the door, loudly announcing that this interview was over and grabbing him by the arm to take him out of the interview room, that the train of thought that he has been fixating on in his post Even storm out disappears, only to be replaced with a different one. 

_ I forgot to hate him.  _

 

-

 

“What the fuck happened in there?”

Eskild had him sitting down on one of the benches outside the Team Norway house in the Olympic Village. It’s freezing outside, but Isak has to admit that getting him to sit here and bribing him with getting to go inside when he admits to Eskild what happened is a good idea. Not so much for him, but a good idea for Eskild. 

“I don’t know? The interviewer asked a really shitty question about our love lifes and Even just flipped?”

Eskild flops down dramatically on the other side of the bench, sitting on his hands to try and warm them up a little. “You know he broke up with his girlfriend like six months ago? Maybe he’s still a bit tender about that?”

Isak can’t help but think about what happened six months ago. Six months ago, there was the Winter Grand Prix, where he had to score well to qualify for the Winter Olympics. Six months ago, he made eye contact with a drop dead gorgeous man across the way while he stood on the sidelines of an event, clutching a glass of steaming something in his hand. Six months ago, he snuck said drop dead gorgeous man into his hotel room completely against the regulations for competitors only to have the best sex of his life and to almost miss his event the next morning because they were having one of the most intimate conversations of his life.

“He–– he broke up with his girlfriend six months ago?” Isak stutters out. Eskild looks around at him, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“What?” Isak blurts, and before he knows it, Eskild is grinning.

“Her name was Sonja Olsen. She’s a figure skater, and a good one, but she didn’t qualify for the Olympics this year. Apparently he broke up with her at the Winter Grand Prix where she was competing.”

Everything about the Winter Grand Prix suddenly makes sense now, about the way that when Isak saw Even again, swinging by his hotel room the next day, it wasn’t him to answer the door but a girl, short blonde hair and an even shorter tone.

The room number wasn’t wrong, because he checked ten minutes before he arrived and got an  _ excited to see you xx  _ text in reply. But Isak knew what this was, or at least he thought he did. This was the girlfriend showing back up, where Even was getting ready to sweep everything under the carpet and move on with his life. 

Now, Isak fears that he might have been very very wrong.

“I had no idea,” he breathes.

Eskild rolls his eyes. “This is why I’ve told you to read the gossip magazines. You’re always out of the loop.”

Another time, he might have taken the time to argue that those magazines are mostly trashy, objectifying articles that he has no interest in supporting. As is, he pushes himself up off of the bench, eyes wide. “Sorry Eskild, I have to uh– do something?”

Isak has bolted halfway across the courtyard before Eskild can even respond, all of his thoughts mushing together until they blurred one into the other.

 

-

 

Here’s the thing: Isak  _ knows  _ figure skating. He understands the angles and edges; how to manipulate the thin blades of his skates and do moves once thought to be impossible. He feels the most at home when he’s on the ice, skating and spinning to his heart's content.

He doesn’t know shit about relationships.

While he attended high school, he didn’t share the experience that his peers had. He would wake up at 4:00 and head to the rink for morning practice, barely getting to his classes in time. Then immediately after school, he would head back to the rink for a real practice with his coach. There was never spare time for parties or hanging with friends, not when he had his eyes set on making the 2018 Winter Olympics. 

And he made it. He’s in PyeongChang, competing for his country, and living out a dream he’s had from the time he took his first solo lap around the ice; but none of his accomplishments were without cost. 

Isak’s 18 and he’s never had a serious, non-platonic relationship. He’s had flings, sure—his…  _ whatever _ with Even is proof enough of that—but he’s never dealt with messy feelings, or heartbreak, or any of the other cliches from the movies. Which means that he has no idea what he’s supposed to make of any of this.

There’s weight in his chest as he jogs through the Village, lungs burning with each gulp of the freezing air he takes. He probably looks like a lunatic (a group of Finnish bobsledders are definitely talking about him right now) but all he can think about is the possibility that he’s the reason Even ended his relationship. He’s just not sure how to feel about that.

 

-

 

“I think Even broke up with his girlfriend for me.”

Isak has been sitting in the hockey stadium locker room for about half an hour now, tapping his knee anxiously and waiting for Jonas to arrive. 

“Even has a girlfriend?”

“Had a girlfriend,” Isak says, shaking his hand at Jonas as if to dismiss his words from the air. “That’s not important. What’s important is that I think I’ve fucked up. Like majorly fucked up.”

To Isak’s eternal frustration, that is the moment when the rest of Jonas’ hockey team comes bounding into the locker room, sweaty and hyperactive from another half decent practise. It’s their qualifying game tomorrow, about 45 minutes before his short program. Jonas was very disappointed when he found out that that meant he might end up missing the program, because the Olympics have never been the best at running on time.

Isak exchanges pleasant greetings with the hockey team that surround him, because although he doesn’t really have much to do with them, he knows them all and likes them all because Jonas does. That was how most of his friendships through high school worked, so it was weird to see that that was going to continue on throughout his (barely) adult life.

The hockey players take a while, and although Isak is antsy and impatient, he can’t begrudge them because really it’s their locker room and he’s just the lone figure skater sitting there. The moment the last player leaves, Jonas turns his attention straight back on him. “What the fuck do you mean?”

Isak can’t help himself. The story of the Winter Grand Prix as he now knows it, not the one that he told Jonas the first time around. When the story is done, Jonas is on the floor, leaning against the bench in the middle of the room and looking up at Isak with his jaw open. 

“Holy shit.”

“Jonas what the fuck do I do?”

“Suck it up and apologise, I guess,” Jonas says, shrugging. “That’s a bit of a new idea for you, hey?”

“Fuck off,” Isak says, flipping him the bird.

“So what do you think he meant by  _ the girl _ ? Did you think he meant Sonja?”

“I kind of forgot about her actually,” Isak replies sheepishly. “I mean I knew there was a girl, but she was more of an abstract  _ Even cheated on someone with me  _ not actually her own person.”

“That’s a bit fucked up,” Jonas says. “She’s her own person, not  _ Even’s girlfriend _ .”

“Yeah I know,” Isak sighs. There’s a pause, while the two of them just kind of sit in their own thoughts. Jonas looks increasingly pained. 

“I think Even’s practising during your short program tomorrow,” Jonas eventually comes out with. 

“What?”

“I thought you might want him to come watch you once he’s finished.”

“Jonas,” Isak deadpans. Where the fuck his best friends thought process goes and ends up Isak will never know. 

“What? Come on, man. We’re all Norwegians, we should support one another.”

Isak snorts. “Yeah, sure. Pride for our country, that’s what this is all about.”

Jonas tosses a glove at him, smirking. “I didn’t say that. It’s also about you having a chance to fix things so that I don’t have to listen to your pining anymore.”

“I haven’t been pining,” Isak denies.

“Whining, then,” Jonas amends.

Isak tosses the glove right back at him, hitting him square in the face.


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak is so close to the one thing that he has wanted all his life, so close that he can taste it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the penultimate chapter of this fic! ive had a lot of fun writing it and i hope u guys have liked reading it too! i had hoped to get this all finished before the olympics were over but that probably wont happen now, so lets hope the hype lasts long enough for me to get the last chapter out!
> 
> thank u to everyone who commented on this fic so far, even if i havent replied i have read them and they mean a lot, so thank u!!
> 
> also to zilver and mak; thanks for bailing me out when idk what to do and when words dont work. i love u guys <3

In theory, the short program should be the one that Isak is best at, considering he’s been doing the same required elements in competition for two years. He only has two quads in there too, making it a lot easier than his free program, where he’s going to attempt five in an attempt to cinch a gold medal. In practise, he’s a lot more worried about it. 

The Olympics may be the only competition where athletes aren’t paid at the end, but they’re the only one that you can guarantee that you’re being watched on the world stage and that millions of people from every corner of the globe are tuning in to watch you, whether they’re from your country or not.

Isak has been sitting on his hands in order to keep himself from obviously shaking, sitting on the sidelines and watching the first four skaters warm up. He’s a high qualifier, skating second to last this evening, which means that he has a greater chance of a high score, but as a consequence means he has to sit through every skater and watch them do the exact same moves as him, twist a little better, jump a little higher. It’s every athletes fatal flaw, to compare themselves to the other athletes out there on the ice, and Isak has always been a little worse in that area. 

Eskild is sitting next to him, and it’s only because Isak has known him for almost his entire life that he knows that he is as nervous. On the outside though he is the measure of calm and composed, his eyes following each of the first four skaters through their programs. 

Isak itches to check his phone and look at the score for the ice hockey qualification. Jonas competing at the same time as him has done nothing for his nerves, for there is a specific part of his brain that is devoted to worrying about him and the sport he has devoted his life too. Isak also can’t help glancing up every few seconds to the entrance, looking anxiously to see if one of his friends has walked through the door in the last five seconds. 

A whole other rotation has gone around before Eskild finally starts to talk, which is another sign of his worry. “That jump’s over-rotated– ooh,” Eskild says, wincing when the skater falls hard on the ice. He gets back up and throws himself back into his program, just as every good skater must.

That fall is the catalyst for Eskild to start his analytical technobabble, whispering to Isak about where all the skaters are losing their points. It’s oddly reassuring, making Isak tune out a little so he can just listen to Eskild talk. 

Before he knows it, he’s spent three hours sitting and watching skaters, stretching intermittently to make sure that he was warm enough. The marshall comes over to warn him that it’s only five minutes before he’s allowed on the ice, and then after that, two more skaters and he’s up. 

The highest technical score on the board is a 98.98 from one of the Russian athletes, which whenever he looks up at it makes his stomach drop. Eskild forces his head away from the leaderboard and down back to him. 

“Don’t focus on that. Focus on yourself and your skating, okay?” Eskild says, pushing him towards the entrance to the ice. “Practise what you need to. Don’t worry about everyone else out there.”

Isak can’t help hugging Eskild a little as he enters the ice rink, taking a deep breath as his skates glide evenly along the ice. There are two skaters out here from Japan, one from Spain, and the four of them line up along the middle of the rink, waiting for their names to be called so that they can stand up and take a bow. 

“Representing Norway, Isak Valtersen!”

It feels oddly relieving to stand up and smile and wave at the cheering crowd, the Norwegian flags in the crowd feeling like a little piece of home coming out and supporting him. The practise isn’t memorable at all; he loses himself in the feeling of landing jump after jump, maintaining spin after spin. Eskild’s grin when he gets off of the ice makes him feel a little giddy inside, a clear sign he’s done well. It’s not like it’s the final thing, but it’s still a confidence boost.

That confidence boost doesn’t last very long, because as he walks back to his empty bench he’s suddenly hit with the realisation that there’s no one surrounding his bench. He had already tried to prepare himself for this ending, because they’re all busy Olympic athletes who have other things to do. He already knew that his friends weren’t coming, but when the reality of it sinks in and he has to sit back on that empty bench with only Eskild for company, that reality still stings a little. 

The Spanish skater is amazing. He glides over the ice in the exact way that Isak wishes he could do, looking effortless even though Isak knows that he’s obviously giving it his all. The Japanese skater who follows him probably has the same level of skill, but Isak doesn’t get a chance to watch him. He has the next five minutes to psych himself up, to make sure he’s mentally ready to step out on that ice and give it his all.

Isak doesn’t get that five minutes. The Japanese skater doesn’t even start. He’s only ten seconds into Eskild’s pep talk, looking off to the side absentmindedly, before he realises that there is a clump of red, white and blue jackets running this way from the entrance in the corner.

It doesn’t take him long to realise who they are though. He’d be a shit person if he couldn’t recognise his own friends. 

“We didn’t miss it did we?” Jonas says breathlessly, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. Isak can’t help himself. He wraps his arms so tightly around Jonas he wonders if there would be any room left in his lungs to breathe. Jonas doesn’t hesitate to hug back, and the few seconds that they spend clutched together feel like an eternity.

“Sorry we’re late,” Eva mumbles when Isak moves on to hug her. “We had to form a procession to get Jonas here on time.”

“He had two people working on taking off his skates at once,” Magnus says cheerfully. 

Isak moves his way through his friends, hugging each one of them and thanking them with everything that he has for coming, until he reaches the back of the procession. Much to his surprise, Even is standing there, clutching his arm and rubbing it awkwardly. Something in Isak right now is jumping for joy at the fact that just his presence here has proved to Isak that whatever is happening right now between Even isn’t completely ruined. 

There’s a moment of hesitation between them. “Good luck,” Even offers up awkwardly, and after that Isak doesn’t wait another second before bringing Even forward and hugging him just as hard and as long as all his other friends.

“Thank you for coming,” Isak whispers into Even’s ear, his voice thick with emotion. Even squeezes him a little tighter, but is prevented from responding again when Eskild taps Isak on the shoulder. 

“You’re up, Isak,” Eskild whispers, and Isak disentangles himself from Even to fight his way back through the crowd that his friends have made. He sheds his blade covers, handing them to Eskild, who then takes the opportunity to hug him.

When he takes his starting position in the middle of the rink, he smiles, looking over at all of his friends sitting entranced on the bench. Jonas flashes him a thumbs up, grinning at him. Isak has never felt more alive. 

 

-

 

He’s sitting back on that bench, reeling from what he’s just done. He landed a triple axel for fucks sakes, and two fucking quads, all without flinching. The camera is about to turn on him, ready for his live reaction to his score, and Isak has a sneaking suspicion that the image that they are about to see is going to go viral. Team Norway have already been an online sensation because of their penchant for turning up enmass to random events just to support their countries athletes, and the interviews which they all did apparently being huge hits as well.

(There was also an uproar when neither Even nor Isak had a published interview. He can’t blame them; there wasn’t much to salvage out of the end of that. Isak knows that he’ll probably have to go back in and redo it or film the ending, but that’s a thought for a later date.)

The moment the voice comes over the intercom asking for the short program score, the whole crowd goes absolutely silent. His friends all tense up around him, quieter than he’s ever seen them before. “Isak Valtersen of Norway has earned in the short program 107.58, which is a new seasons best, putting him in second place.”

His friends are all up and cheering after the number gets called out, because they all know what that means anyway. They don’t need to hear the end bit, because they’ve been following this competition just as religiously as he’s been following theirs. He’s fucking second. Fucking second. In the fucking Olympic Games. 

It’s not a guaranteed medal yet, but the feeling in his veins right now must be something like it, because it’s the most elation Isak has ever felt in his life. He’s passed around amongst his friends, who all hug and congratulate him, the same smiles of overflowing pride on all of their faces. Even Even, who was awkward before this, has somehow managed to lose that awkwardness and is hugging Isak, pressing a kiss to his cheek which Isak doesn’t even register. 

Eskild hugs him tightest of all, because this is what they have been working for. And Isak is so close to the one thing that he has wanted all his life, so close that he can taste it. 

 

-

 

The issue with having Olympic athletes for friends is that they have to disappear so quickly afterwards, because they all have other things that they need to be doing. There’s surprisingly little intersect time, but they all make the best of it, considering that they all showed up to Isak’s skate. 

It also means that he has to walk out of the arena alone, because they all ditched the moment they could. All of them it seems, except for Even. 

He’s leaning against the wall in the corridor leading out, a pose which looks like it has been lifted frame for frame out of a high school movie. He’s looking all suave with one of his legs cocked against the wall, and he’s staring down at his phone, completely out of it. 

“Boo,” Isak calls, and that’s the moment where all of Even’s supposed suaveness disappears, as the foot that is resting against the wall flinches, causing Even to lose his balance and topple down the wall. His hand immediately flies out to try and steady him, which makes Isak laugh. 

He jogs lightly up to him, dropping his bag down off of his shoulder and onto the ground. “Hi Even.”

“Can we–” Even says, before stopping. He runs a hand through his air anxiously. “Can we talk?”

Isak nods. “You wanna go watch Magnus slide some oversized pebbles along a slab of ice?”

 

-

 

They don’t really talk on the way there, but they do hold hands. Isak considers that a win. 

Athlete passes get you into almost any event to watch, in a specific cautioned off area for them. The curling one is practically deserted, with the only few people sitting there members of other curling teams, watching intently for any sort of mistakes they can exploit or game strategies that they can use. 

When Magnus sees them walk in, he lights up, his grin threatening to engulf his entire face. Even waves back at him. Isak just smiles. 

Magnus, for all the lack of brain cells, is an intense concentrator when he wants to be. He’s whisper yelling at his teammates as one of them cleans the ice in front of the oversized pebbles, which may or may not be called curling stones, Isak isn’t sure.

They watch for a while, because neither of them have any idea how to start this conversation. Magnus is a good distraction, even if neither of them know whats going on. The whole time however, Even hasn’t let go of his hand. In fact, he’s openly fiddling with it now, drawing patterns on the back of it and forcing it up to come and rest gingerly on his knee. Isak’s whole body is on high alert, and only years of practise in forcing nerves down in order to focus has saved him from giving that fact away. 

“I think I need to apologise,” he starts after a while, at the point when the silence has become unbearable. Even looks up at him, a startled look on his face. 

“What for?”

“I didn’t hear you out.” Isak means to continue speaking and elaborate further, but judging by the way that Even blushes and looks down at his lap he knows. 

“I don’t blame you. I didn’t really start that right.”

“Do you want another go?”

“Can I?” When Isak nods, Even takes a small breath. “I wasn’t trying to upset you with the story; I actually thought we would share a laugh about it. It’s all pretty embarrassing, honestly.”

He laughs awkwardly, rubbing his arm. “There was this girl, and I took her home one night after you—after us. I didn’t think that you would ever want to have anything more than a hookup, so I was trying to move on. But then I took her home, and we couldn’t even do anything. Do you know why?”

Stunned to silence, Isak shakes his head.

“Because I called her Isak,” Even says. “Not just one time, either. At first she ignored it, but then I did it  _ again  _ when she was trying to get my shirt off. There I was, with an attractive and willing girl, but all I could think about was you.”

Oh. Isak didn’t know what he was expecting from that story, but it sure as hell wasn’t that. His brain starts racing, thinking about all the conversations that him and Even have had since that night at the Grand Prix (which frankly isn’t many), and all the times afterwards where Isak denied to Jonas that Even was flirting with him. 

Isak doesn’t realise how caught up in his own head he’s suddenly become, because Even coughs indiscreetly, bringing Isak’s attention back to him. “Oh, uh, sorry,” Isak mumbles, looking down at his fidgeting hands. 

“You can say something, you know. In fact, I’d kind of like it if you did, because then I wouldn’t be sitting here worrying and–”

Isak, at the core of his personality, is a panicker. He panics at literally every stressful situation he is put in, and 9 times out of 10 his reaction to that panic is to freeze up and wait for the source of the panic to move along. 

This time is the tenth time. 

Isak has cut Even off by turning around in his seat, shifting his hand up to Even’s cheek so he can bring him close enough to kiss without the uncomfortable arm rest on the side of the seat digging into his ribs. And kiss him he does. 

There is a second of delay for Even to respond, a whole second where Isak’s thoughts consist solely of  _ holy fuck have I just made the biggest mistake of my life,  _ but that second passes as seconds tend to do, and then Even is kissing him back with the same combination of tenderness and passion and god knows what else that Even kissed him with the morning after the night at the Grand Prix. 

It doesn’t last long though. 

Isak is keenly aware of the fact that they are sitting in a public area in an Olympic arena, watching one of his best friends compete. He is also aware that that means that at least one of the official photographers would have gotten a photo of it, and that in about ten minutes his phone will buzz with three texts from Eskild, saying how proud of Isak he is for getting some, how disappointed he is for Isak getting some in a public are and then finally asking how Isak wants to deal with the subsequent media blowup.

Isak isn’t  _ out  _ out yet, but now he probably is, and it’s the only reason why he pulls back from the kiss a lot quicker than he wanted to. Even chases his lips, but Isak turns away, facing back towards where Magnus is still curling. Magnus, who is staring open mouthed up at the two of them, only to have his attention snapped away with a click of one of his teammates fingers. 

Even’s face drops in disappointment. “What’s–” 

“I’m not out,” Isak says, looking down at his hands. “But I guess I am now.”

Even reaches out to intertwine their fingers. Isak tracks the movement, surprised at how grounded it already makes him feel. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, looking back at Magnus. 

“Not your fault.”

“Can I apologise anyway?”

“No. I kissed you. I made my choice.”

A smile begins to grow over Even’s face, tentative at first, but ending as one of those smiles where you try to contain all your happiness but just can’t quite manage it. He looks up at Isak gingerly, his eyes wide underneath long eyelashes. “I’m your choice?”

Isak is quiet, but resolute in his next words, “You’re my choice.”

Isak knows that the outside world is waiting for him now, but as long as him and Even are sitting in this box and watching their friend succeed at a sport he’s put his heart and soul into, the outside world can’t touch him. He squeezes Even’s hand, and turns his attention back onto Magnus, who beams up at the two of them. 

 

-

 

Even’s competing tomorrow. His qualifier. Isak has a break day between his short and his free program, so as fate has it, he’ll be standing at the bottom of that slopestyle course waiting for Even to board his way down. 

It’s only his qualifier, but it’s also his first event of the Games, and Isak knows exactly how nervous you get before your first entry onto the competitive world stage.

That’s the reason why Even’s usual roommate, Mikael from the 4-man bobsled team, has graciously bowed out for the night to sleep in Isak’s bed and why Isak is currently smoothing Even’s hair out from his face, lying opposite him in his bed. It’s a little on the small side, but they’re making it work. 

It’s only 9:12, but it feels a lot later. The window curtains are drawn shut, the sun has already set, and the only light that’s in the room is the little lamp which hangs over the bed. It’s on, but the intensity of it has been turned down so the light it emits is only very faint. It’s just enough for Isak to be able to make out Even’s face. 

Suddenly, Even shifts on to his back, making himself a little more out of reach. “We haven’t had the relationship talk yet, you know.”

Isak’s eyes narrow. “I thought the whole  _ you’re my choice  _ thing was obvious.”

“Yeah, but you made that choice without all the facts.” Even’s voice is detached and clinical, giving Isak flashbacks to the moment where he came out to Jonas in the same way, saying everything else except for the two fateful words of  _ I’m gay.  _ The tone of voice that Even is using is the one that he uses too, when he talks about the scariest things in his life. 

Isak reaches out for Even’s hand. “We don’t have to talk about this now.”

“I need you to know.”

“Okay.”

“I’m bipolar.”

“Okay.” Even with the memory of his mother in the foreground of his brain, Isak is unflinching in his response. 

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“But–” Even opens his mouth to protest even more, but Isak immediately cuts him off.

“Even. You’re a highly intelligent and capable person. I’m not expecting to suddenly have to be your entire support system overnight. I’m just going to be a part of it from now on. I’m still choosing you, okay?” 

Even deflates at that, turning back onto his side and curling back into Isak. “Okay.”

“Good.”

Isak starts to run his fingers back through Even’s hair, gently coaxing out the knots which have already built up. Somehow, even with all the nerves that must be flying through Even’s veins right now, he’s quickly asleep. Isak, on the other hand, has never been blessed with the ability to fall asleep quickly, even if he is feeling more sleepy than usual in this bed. 

“You’re an amazing athlete,” Isak whispers to the night, his voice reverent like a prayer. The words feel a lot heavier on his tongue, a result of the weird fear anticipation mix thrumming desperately underneath his skin. “You’re going to do amazing tomorrow.”

 

-

 

It’s hard to see Even from where Isak is standing at the bottom of the slopes, even harder than it was to see Eva only a few days prior. He’s got Chris and Mahdi with him, flanking him on either side like they think he’s going to run away. (Which he’s definitely not. Just sometimes nerves… happen.)

“You want some?” Chris says, offering out her thermos.

“Yeah thanks,” Isak says absentmindedly, accepting the offered drink and then immediately taking a large gulp of it. That is a mistake, because although the thermos contains Chris’s favourite super strong coffee, there is also a disgusting spirit mixed in with it.

Isak makes a face, swallowing it all despite the burn. “What the fuck is in this?” 

“Vodka,” Chris replies cheerfully. “Keeps me warm.”

“You’re drunk?” Mahdi interjects, his famous eyebrow raised again.

“It takes a lot more vodka than what’s in this to get me drunk,” Chris retorts, turning back to look up at the slopestyle course. “Fuck, he’s about to go.”

Isak has no idea how Chris can see that, because all Even looks like to him is a tiny reddy black speck against the white snow backdrop. But Chris is right, because the reddy black dot suddenly takes off, becoming larger and larger. 

“Why the fuck are you watching him there?” Mahdi says, elbowing him in the side and pointing at something. “There’s a screen.”

“Oh fuck,” Isak says, turning around and feeling vaguely chastised. The screen provides a much better view of all the tricks Even is doing, and even though Isak has no idea what they are, his heart is still in his throat, panic rising up everytime Even’s snowboard leaves the relative safety of the snow.

He’s only coming down the track for around two minutes, but it’s the longest two minutes of Isak’s life. The stuff Even is managing to do is incredible, up and down and up and down and somehow making it look effortless.

When he’s down at the bottom though, before Isak even realises that it’s over, Even has detached himself from his snowboard and is now hugging his coach, jumping up and down in wonder.

“The score?” Isak mumbles, not knowing where to look, before Mahdi directs his attention back to the screen he keeps forgetting exists. When he looks though, he suddenly realises that Even is the first person he’s ever met who is in this sport, and so he has no idea what the fuck a good score is.

Before he can ask either Mahdi or Chris though, Even comes bounding over to him, wrapping him up in a tight hug. 

“Is that a qualifying score?” Isak whispers into Even’s shoulder. Even nods quickly, and Isak can feel the grin on his face even though he can’t see it.

“Fuck yes it is!”

“Holy fuck, you’re in!”

“I’m in!”

Even suddenly pulls back from the hug, like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do next. Isak removes that doubt by kissing him resolutely, in front of the cameras and the public and everyone who might just happen to be watching them. 

The wolf whistle from Chris next to them is enough to break the two of them apart, and Isak buries his head in Even’s shoulder to try and escape the teasing of his friends. Even just grins brightly, disentangling the two of them and moving down the line, ushered to where he needs to go now by one of the marshalls.

“Since when was that a thing,” Mahdi says when Even is gone, a look on his face which Isak is unable to decipher.

“Fifteen hours. Give or take six months.”


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a long time coming and a little overdue, hope this sweetness overload chapter makes up for it <3
> 
> a big thanks to my wife zilver and my side chick makayla, the both of u know how much i love u both but im gonna say it again; i love u both <3

His skates grate as he glides off of the ice, Eskild hugging him tight enough to force all the air out of him before he can even put his blade guards on. His ears are ringing, and even though he knows logically that the crowd around him must be screaming, he can’t hear it. 

The only reminder of what he’s just done is his ankles, which feel almost ready to buckle under the pressure which he has just put on them.

Isak Valtersen, the twenty year old figure skater from Norway making his Olympic debut, had just accomplished what no other figure skater before him had. He had attempted five quad jumps in a single program, and he had landed all five. 

That was what Isak assumed the headlines would read tomorrow. If he had tried that in any other competition, then it would not get nearly as much global recognition as it would now that he had done it at the Olympics, where millions of people from across the globe were tuning in to watch him partake in the sport that he loved. 

Eskild guides him off the ice to his bench where some of his friends are waiting for him, Jonas and Eva in particular. Even is standing behind them, grinning broadly. 

That fucker. He said he couldn’t make it.

Isak doesn’t hear the call of the voice over the speaker as they read out his score. Eskild’s gripping his hand so tight that Isak doesn’t know if blood is still able to pump to keep his fingers alive. When the grip unexpectedly releases, Isak tries to look up at the screen, but it’s obscured by Eskild’s head. 

He has to assume from the way he gets passed around that he’s done well, and right now he’s hoping for a medal. When he finally gets to Even, he finds his voice again, whispering into his ear. “What did I get?”

Even’s grin widens as he whispers back, if that is even possible. “224.16.”

“Oh.”

That’s a world record. That’s a fucking  _ world record _ . All of the tight hugs suddenly make sense, because he’s twenty, making his Olympic debut, and he’s broken a fucking world record.

 

-

 

He’s standing at the top of the podium, a Japanese skater on his left and a Spanish skater on his right. He’s clutching a teddy bear of the official Winter Games mascot in one hand, and his other is up in the air, waving at all the people who are standing in the audience and clapping for him.

Even though he competes in a sport that is all about balance, it’s surprisingly hard to keep it while he’s not standing on the ice. There’s also the fact that the lights that are shining on him make him feel like he’s about to faint. 

Isak is not a natural smiler. He’s a lot more grumpy in real life than he probably appears on camera, and it takes a lot of effort from him to smile when he has to. This smile takes no effort at all. 

He waves a little more at the crowd, trying to focus on the sheer joy he feels right now and not the anxiety that he’s going to do something stupid while the world is watching. Why he feels more anxious about this than competing, Isak doesn’t know. 

 

-

 

There is a long gap after Isak’s win which is kind of just a blank section in his head. Eskild grips his arm tightly and runs him through the motions, moving through the post event press conference like he’s done it all before. Everybody wants a piece of him, to know exactly what was going through his head as he landed quad after quad.

Isak is lucky that he has Eskild, because he prepped him with so many default answers that Isak could recite in his sleep. The actual truth about figure skating is that there is no thoughts in his head when he jumps; he’s only in the air for half a second before he’s back down, there’s not much time for thinking left when he’s focused on getting his feet and arms in the right position to land.

After the interviews and the warm down and the post ice massage, after it’s all over, Isak stumbles back into his room, desperate for a moment of peace. Even is sitting there on his bed, his back awkwardly stiff like he’s not sure if he should be here or not. He jumps a little when Isak opens the door, his eyes blown wide.

“I can go if you’re too tired to do anything…” Even trails off, taking in Isak’s figure where he’s slumped against the door, the exhaustion catching up to him in a way which makes it almost impossible to hold himself up.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Isak says, trying to raise his hand to dismiss the idea but aborting the action halfway through when he can’t get his arm up far enough. “Maybe– maybe we can lie down for a while?”

“Okay.”  
Even smiles softly at him, getting up from the bed and moving over to support him over to it. Isak isn’t in his competition gear anymore, but he’s still in the Norwegian tracksuit and he doesn’t really want to sleep in that. He tries to mumble something to Even, to try and communicate the fact that he wants his uniform off and that he wants it off without having to move any part of his body, but his head is on the pillow now, and in the end the softness of the mattress underneath him wins out. 

Even, to his credit, understands anyway. He slides his hand gently underneath Isak’s calf and holds it up while he wriggles one of Isak’s shoes off, repeating the process again on the other leg. The socks are next, and then his tracksuit pants, which Isak expects his body to cry out in pain for. Even is surprisingly gentle, somehow maneuvering Isak’s limp figure in a way that Isak doesn’t really feel except for a minor bit of discomfort. 

Eventually, Even ends up curled around him, Isak on his back only in his boxers. Even is running a hand gently through Isak’s hair and pressing a soft kiss to Isak’s cheek. The warm feeling in Isak’s body is a new one, but no less lovely.

“I’m proud of you, you know?” Even whispers.

“I know. I’m proud of me too.”

“That’s good. You should always be proud of your own achievements.”

Isak hums. “I hope you’re proud of you too.”

Even doesn’t reply, but Isak doesn’t get to hear Even’s response, because he’s already drifted off. 

 

-

 

There’s a note on his pillow when he wakes up. Upon further examination, it’s not a note but a drawing, two little panels side by side. 

It’s Isak, standing in the crowd surrounded by a whole bunch of blank faces. He’s grinning. On the other panel is what he assumes to be Even in the air on his snowboard, hand coming down to grip the board in that stereotypical snowboarder pose that Isak sees on Nike advertisements and the like. 

The caption underneath reads  _ see you there  _ with two love hearts drawn after it.

Isak knew that Even would be gone before he woke up anyway, but the note makes his heart flutter anyway. He stares up at the ceiling for a while, a dopey grin on his face, and considers what would have happened if he didn’t actually give Even a chance to explain himself. Then, he gets rid of that thought because it makes him feel a little melancholy and replaces it with the fact that this is a universe where him and Even are getting it right. 

He spends so long in that thought that he almost forgets that he has somewhere to be. Almost. Isak may be rushing out the door, one shoe on and one shoe off, but he will be damned if he is actually late.

 

-

 

He’s pressed up against the barrier in the family and media section of the snowboarding event, Jonas standing next to him. Isak shouldn’t really be surprised at the amount of people here, considering the amount of athletes that are in this event, but he’s surprised none the less. There’s a camera right behind him too, and he knows if he even dares to move a single toe out of the position he’s in now, he could very potentially ruin a very expensive piece of equipment with the very cheap cup of tea he has in his hand. 

“When is Even’s run?” Jonas asks, like he expects Isak to know this off of the top of his head. 

“Three runs from now is his first,” Isak replies a little too quickly, because he does actually know this off the top of his head, which he halfheartedly thinks he should be a little more embarrassed about. It’s just Jonas though. He’ll get teased no matter what he does. 

Jonas elbows him in the side, wiggling his eyebrows expressively. “Bro, you’re whipped.”

Isak rolls his eyes, glancing back at the snowboarder who is coming down the course. So what if he is whipped? So what if he’s done his research about snowboarding and now knows enough to fudge his way through a conversation with Even about his own sport? So what? He just wants to know instantly if Even’s doing well or not, and not have his only tell at that being if Even falls. 

The two of them just kind of stand around and watch the next two competitors, Isak glancing at the board every two seconds just to check that it isn’t actually Even on his run. It isn’t him, but his name is written in smaller font underneath the Swedish guy that is currently heading down the hill at over a hundred kilometres an hour. 

And thank god it isn’t him. The Swedish guy is only about halfway through his run when he lands awkwardly or hits his board against one of the obstacles or something, because when Isak looks up again the Swedish guy is tumbling messily down the hill on a weird angle. By the  looks of it, he’s heading for the cameraman, and as horrible as the aftermath of this is going to be, Isak can’t bring himself to look away. 

The crash is loud, and he knows that it’s about to get more media coverage than any other part of the event probably will. Isak knows that crashes in these sorts of events are always nasty though, and he spares a moment of worry for the athlete who’s just crashed out horribly. Then, he thinks about something he probably shouldn’t be thinking about at all, because all it’s going to do is make him worry. Once the thought is in his head though, he can’t let it go. 

It doesn’t take long after that for the tiny black dot that is Even to appear at the top of the hill. He’s barely visible, but Isak reaches for Jonas’ arm anyway, squeezing tight. 

There’s a reason that Jonas is his best friend, because he just  _ knows _ things. “He’ll be fine Isak. This is what he does for a living.”

“I’m not worried about him falling,” Isak denies, even though he very much is scared about Even having a repeat of what just happened. He wonders if Even is sitting up at the top of the hill thinking the same thing. 

The black dot begins to move. Even is heading down the hill fast, and Isak can’t take his eyes off him as he gets bigger and bigger. His heart decides to move into his stomach when Even’s snowboard leaves the snow, dropping further into the earth as he does wild flips and spins that never in his wildest dreams does Isak think he would ever have the courage to do. The jumps he does on the ice could never compare to  _ this _ . 

Isak doesn’t know how long it takes for the average snowboard run to finish, but Even’s at the bottom before he knows it. There’s a weird sense of deja vu in his stomach, because the same sequence of events that happened at Even’s qualifiers are happening again. He watches Even as he hugs his coach, then turns around to face the screen to wait for his score. 

The score on the board reads 85.3. Second place.

“Holy shit,” Isak says, wrapping his arms around Jonas. Jonas gives the hug back as good as he gets it. The feeling of elation when you see someone do well at the Olympics is unlike any other feeling Isak has ever felt, something that can’t be matched by his own performance at any of his other competitions. He wants to bask in it for as long as he can.

-

 

Even gets demoted to third place by a cocky little seventeen year old from the USA. In the grand scheme of things though, it doesn’t matter, because he’s still standing up on that makeshift podium clutching a little teddy bear mascot and grinning, staring directly at Isak like he’s the only person in the world that matters. 

“Representing Norway, in third place, Even Bech Næsheim.”

 

-

 

“Are you sure we’re allowed to do this?” Even whispers, gripping Isak’s hand a little tighter. 

“No,” Isak whispers back, poking his head around the corner and looking to see if anyone is coming. It’s not like there would be anyone anyway, all the athletes who are left in the Olympic Village are supposed to be celebrating the Olympics at the Closing Ceremony. Isak and Even could be the only people left in the grounds.

Even is holding two pairs of ice skates in his hand, one pair having been lovingly  _ borrowed  _ from Eskild’s training bag. The other pair are Isak’s. The two of them are making a mad dash across the Olympic Village and to the ice rink, because also in Eskild’s training bag were the set of keys which was given to the coaches. They’re something else that Isak has borrowed from the bag.

It may be the worst idea in the world to try and break into the Olympic ice arena, but Isak is fresh out of romantic first date ideas, and Even seemed oddly keen. Isak tries his best not to psych himself up about getting caught, because at heart he has always been one to stick to the rules.

In the end, it’s surprisingly easy. The key card opens the door without a hitch, no alarm goes off and no security guards come running. The light switch is a little harder to find, especially for the main lights, but Even goes rummaging around in the commentators room and finds it. Isak sits down at the bottom of the rink and laces his skates up.

He’s done a few warm up laps by the time Even comes back down, and skates over to the side to see him rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish look on his face. “Is now a good time to tell you… I’ve never actually skated before?”

Isak just raises an eyebrow. “Why the hell did you suggest coming here then?”

“I don’t know! I thought it would be cute for you to, you know, teach me?” Even asks, his face scrunching up a little.

Even’s skates are still sitting on the bench. Isak looks over at them. “Maybe you should put them on first?”

“Is that a yes you’ll teach me?”

Isak rolls his eyes. “No that’s a  _ we’ve broken in here for nothing and might as well leave now,  _ yes of course it’s a I’ll teach you.”

It’s a little entertaining for Isak to watch Even wrestle with the figure skates, because Even doesn’t undo the laces at the front all the way before trying to slide himself in to them. It’s a rookie error, made by lazy people who never undo their shoes normally, but because the back of the skate shoe is that inflexible, it just doesn’t work. 

In the end, Isak has to get off the ice and bend down in front of Even to put his skate on for him. “You have to untie the laces to get it on.”

Even pulls a face like a petulant child. “But that’s so much effort,” he whines, making Isak smile and roll his eyes. When they’re on and double knotted securely, Even tries to stand up, his hand immediately shooting out to balance himself, landing on Isak’s shoulder. Isak laughs.

“How the hell am I supposed to balance on the ice if I can’t even balance myself here,” Even says, waddling awkwardly over to where the edge of the rink to balance himself on the foam pads. 

“It’s better when you’re moving,” Isak offers, pushing out onto the ice. He’s graceful, he knows he is, but that’s because he’s got fifteen years of muscle memory ingrained in him. He skates around in a circle before coming back to the gate to hold his hands out for Even to grip onto. 

He takes his first shakey steps out onto the ice like a Bambi, before his legs give out underneath him, one leg going one way and the second leg the other, ending up landing flat on his ass. Isak can’t help it. He laughs. 

Even pouts up at him, grabbing his offered hands and pulling himself up. “Sorry not all of us are graceful figure skaters like you.”

“Come on then,” Isak says, “You kind of have to push your feet out like this.” He demonstrates it for Even, who tries unsuccessfully to copy his movements, his grip tightening on Isak’s hand when he loses his balance. “God, you’re like a bloody baby giraffe.”

This makes Even laugh, and then makes him fall even more. “I don’t know if I can stand up.”

“Do you think you can try long enough for me to kiss you?” Isak asks, grinning.  
Even blinks blankly back up at him. “Kiss me?”

“Well what’s the point of a date if I don’t get a kiss?”

Even suddenly grins at him, hopping to his feet all the while staying remarkably balanced. Isak is not a dumb person by any means, and it suddenly occurs to him what Even has been doing. “You absolute fucker.”

Even grins broadly at him. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You fucking– you already know how to skate!”

“Prove it.”

If those are not the most sexual tension making words in the entirety of any language, Isak doesn’t know what would be. Isak pushes himself forward, wraps one of his hands around the back of Even’s neck and pulls him in, kissing him firmly. 

The voice in the back of his head is faintly reminding him about Even’s previous deception, because no matter what Isak does, Even stays firmly grounded with his hands tangled up in Isak’s hair. 

And then boom. 

The Olympic closing ceremonies always end with fireworks, but Isak wasn’t expecting them to start quite so soon. All they’re a symbol of right now is the fact that the athletes are about to come swarming back into the village, and Isak and Even need to hightail it out of there right now in order to not get caught by any officials and have their late night antics plastered all over the front page of every newspaper in the world.

Even breaks their kiss, resting his forehead against Isak’s. He’s grinning that same grin that makes Isak’s whole body feel like it’s on fire. 

“I’ll get the lights?”

“I’ll pack up our shit.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. i really like fireworks breaking kisses apparently i do it a lot

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is always appreciated :)


End file.
